


Half My Soul? This Asshole

by wrote_and_writ



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 02:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16864465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrote_and_writ/pseuds/wrote_and_writ
Summary: Some things never leave a person.  The scar Patroclus’s  actions left on his own family and the family of that poor boy. It never, ever left him. But in time, under care, it faded.





	1. Chapter 1

_Pock!_

Patroclus grimaced but did not look up from his book. 

_Pock pock!_

Patroclus inhaled sharply through his nose and let the breath out slowly. 

Five. Four. Three. Two. 

_Pock!_

“What in the holy hell do you want, Achilles? And why did you bring that thing into a law library?”

Achilles tossed the Nerf gun aside and wore a face of angelic innocence. “What makes you think I want anything?”

“Because you’ve been devising ways to drive me insane for the last forty minutes. You’re bored or hungry or horny or something, and I am not going to help you with any of those things,” Patroclus said through gritted teeth. “I have got to get ready for tomorrow’s deposition, or your father will skin me alive.”

Achilles pouted.

“I didn’t ask you to come with me,” Patroclus hissed, drawing disapproving looks from the librarian at the reference desk. Patroclus shook out his hands. Of course she would give him the evil eye and not shining Achilles, heir to the Myrmidon and Partners Law Firm. No, he could strip naked and swing from the stacks, and it would still somehow be Patroclus’s fault. 

“Come on, Pat. It’s dinner time.”

“It’s four thirty in the afternoon. I plan on staying here until the library closes. At eleven. In six and a half hours.”

“Gods,” Achilles groaned loudly, which earned Patroclus another look of reproach from the librarian. 

“Harpy,” Patroclus muttered. He grabbed Achilles by the arm and hauled him out to the back stairwell. 

“And here you said you weren’t going to help me,” Achilles purred, reaching for Patroclus. 

Patroclus slapped his hand away. “I’m serious, Keels. I cannot play with you today. Or tomorrow. I have to finish this paperwork.” Patroclus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your father scheduled a meeting with me for tomorrow afternoon. A one on one. I have no idea what it’s about.”

“Probably about the new branch opening in a month. He mentioned something about you going down to Pelion and learning the ropes from Chiron.”

Patroclus froze. “When exactly did you acquire this bit of information?”

“Last month? I don’t remember.”

“And you didn’t think this life-altering information might be worth sharing? All those times you texted me cat memes in the middle of the night, it never once occurred to you to say ‘oh by the way, Dad’s sending you to the ass-end of the earth to work with some old man, away from all your friends and family.’ Not once did that thought four through your head?”

“I’m going with you,” Achilles said. “I’ve got an internship as well.”

“A fucking internship?!” Patroclus’s voice echoed off the stairwell. “I have already passed the bar, and your father is sending me off on an _internship?!”_

“No. Yes. Maybe?” Achilles slung an arm around Patroclus. “I don’t remember the details. It was months ago.”

Patroclus managed a strangled gasp but no words. 

“Dad’ll give you the dossier tomorrow. I’ve already got our going away party planned. Friday night. He’s not using the jet on Sunday, so we don’t even have to fly commercial. Hashtag blessed,” he said with a reckless grin. 

“We’re leaving Sunday! Jesus fucking Christ and all his saints!” Patroclus sat down on a step and put his head in his hands. Surely, _surely_ he didn’t deserve this. His karma couldn’t be that stained. Could it? Wasn’t being saddled with this beautiful idiot punishment enough?

“I have to go,” he said, leaping to his feet. He paced the stairwell. “I have to talk to him. I can’t leave. I can’t... I have to go.” 

“Patsy,” Achilles wheedled. 

Patroclus turned on Achilles and lifted him by the collar of his shirt. 

“You call me that again, and I will fuck you up. And not,” he said before Achilles could respond, “in a fun way. For my sins, I may be saddled with you, but that doesn’t mean you get to be such a fucking stupid moron!”

Achilles’s face grew stormy. He shoved Patroclus away and dusted his shirt with his hands. 

“I understand you perfectly, Patroclus. You’ve got a stick up your ass the size of a redwood. I suppose there’s nothing I can do about that. But I’m not a moron. So fuck you, too.”

He looked expectantly at Patroclus. Any one of their friends would have backed down and soothed his ruffled feathers and kissed away the hurt to his pride, but Patroclus had met his limit. 

“So long as you know where we stand,” Patroclus said harshly. He shouldered past Achilles, back into the library, stopping only to shove his papers in his bag before hurrying to hail a cab that would get him to the firm before he could talk himself out of confronting Peleus. 


	2. Chapter 2

Patroclus managed to get a hold on his temper, but only just, on the ride to the firm. He blew past security and went straight up to the old man’s office. His secretary, Eris, rose to stop him bursting through the doors, but Patroclus evaded her grasp and threw open the door.

Peleus stood at a large oak conference table, head together with two other senior partners, Menelaus and Odysseus. The men exchanged heavy glances, and Menelaus hastily gathered up the papers they were studying. 

“Sir,” Eris began, “I tried--”

“Never mind,” Peleus said, gesturing to the two men to leave. “I expect this is important, or Patroclus wouldn’t be so bold.”

Patroclus stopped dead, all rage leaving him. 

Odysseus slapped him on the shoulder. “Looking forward to the party Friday, Pat.”

Patroclus saw red. He didn’t hear the warning noise Peleus gave the men, nor did he notice Eris’s hasty exit. 

“We’ve got that dinner in an hour,” Menelaus said smoothly. He straightened the files in his arms and handed them off to Odysseus. “I’ll call us a town car.”

“Fine, fine,” Peleus replied. “Gentlemen. I need to speak with Patroclus. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” 

Odysseus and Menelaus left the office through a side door that connected to a conference room and tactfully closed the door with an audible catch. Peleus gestured to a chair in front of his desk, and Patroclus sat.

Peleus did not speak. He went instead to a discrete bar next to a bookshelf by the window and poured two glasses of scotch. He added a dash of water and handed one drink to Patroclus. He took his own drink and sat behind the desk.

They drank in silence while Patroclus wrestled his emotions under control. 

“I take it Achilles failed to apprise you of plans regarding your employment with the firm,” Peleus said at last. 

“Sir, I--”

Peleus silenced him with a wave of his hand. 

“I really ought to know better, but I had hoped that in this matter, at least, my son would have shown a modicum of good sense. I see I was wrong. Finish your drink,” he commanded. 

Patroclus swallowed the last bit and let the fire that slid down his throat settle out in his limbs. 

Peleus sighed. “Patroclus.”

“I don’t mind going,” Patroclus said. “I know my place within this firm, and I accept the transfer with grace.”

Peleus snorted. “If that’s grace, I hate to see you when you lose your temper.”

Patroclus stiffened. 

“Shit,” Peleus mumbled. “Well, since I brought it up, I may as well keep going. I don’t think you do know your place in this firm, Patroclus, or my family. I don’t think you understand your true value to me.” Peleus rose and turned to the bar. He poured himself another finger of scotch, downed it, and poured a third. He held out the decanter to Patroclus, who shook his head. 

“You know I can’t make you a partner.”

“I understand, sir.”

“I know juvenile records are supposed to stay sealed, but you’ve seen who we’re up against. They fight dirty. I’ve worked too long and too hard to take that kind of risk with you.”

“I understand, sir. You don’t have to explain.”

“I don’t think you do understand, Patroclus.” Peleus filled his glass a fourth time and poured Patroclus another, despite his objection. “I would leave this all to you in a heartbeat, if not for--”

“My sins,” Patroclus said bitterly. 

Peleus barked a laugh. 

“Sins? Boy, you have no idea about sins.” He finished his scotch and set the glass on the bar. “No, you don’t have a fucking clue about sins.” He returned to his seat behind the desk. “I don’t need you to be a partner. I need you to be better.”

“Sir?”

“Patroclus, you aren’t stupid. You know what we do here, who we work with. You know the value of being behind the door. That’s why I’m sending you to Chiron. Chiron was the best backstage man we ever had. He’ll teach you what you need to know.”

Patroclus sat back in his chair, stunned. Peleus gave him a sad smile.

“I should have prepared you myself, I think, but that’s another sin on my tally. I’m making up for it the best way I can, all things considered.”

“Sir, do you mean?”

“All in good time, son.” Peleus smiled ruefully. “Speaking of sons, I’m counting on you and Chiron to bring Achilles to heel. I’m not quite ready to shuffle off this mortal coil, but I want to see Achilles settled as the face of this firm before I’m too senile to enjoy what promises to be a brief retirement.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

Peleus smiled again. “For all intents and purposes, you’ll be in charge one day. And you’ll be compensated appropriately. Starting now.” He took a gray zippered bag from his desk drawer and tossed it to Patroclus. “That’s enough to get you started. All the information regarding travel, housing arrangements, everything you’ll need to get settled in Pelion. There’s a credit card there, one for you, one for my wayward boy. Use it at your discretion. As I trust your discretion most, your credit is considerably more...flexible than Achilles’s. He’ll manage with the pittance, as he’ll no doubt see it. Do not feel the need to take care of him with your own funds.”

Patroclus looked up from the file. “Thank you, sir. I’m honored.”

“You’ve earned it.” He rose and indicated that Patroclus should do the same. “Go. I know you haven’t finished the work for the deposition tomorrow. I’ll get one of the underlings to handle it. You go make your arrangements to leave. We can send up anything you need if you run out of time.” He stood before Patroclus. Patroclus held out a hand for a handshake, but Peleus caught him up in a firm embrace.

“You’ve comported yourself honorably, Patroclus.” He slapped Patroclus on the back and released him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Your father would be proud.”

“Thanks for bringing down the mood, sir,” Patroclus said wryly. 

Peleus patted his shoulder. “Go on, son. Make your arrangements. You fly out first thing Sunday morning. You’ll understand if I don’t attend your farewell soiree, but you have my number. Call me if anything comes up. Anything at all.”

“Thank you, sir.” Patroclus was shocked to find himself blinking back tears. He blamed it on the scotch. “Until we meet again.”

“Be well, Patroclus.” 

Patroclus nodded and turned to leave. He was about to close the door behind him when Peleus called his name. 

“Sir?”

“Be well, and be happy.”


	3. Chapter 3

Patroclus thumbed through the apps on his phone, his irritation growing by the minute. He was hungover as hell, but he managed to make it to the airport on time. They’d lost their place in the take off queue twice and were about to lose it a third time. The pilot, a blank-faced young man who’d been retained by Peleus’s firm a number of times before, calmly flipped through a copy of Maxim. Patroclus suppressed a grimace and opened the photo folders on his phone.

He had gotten gloriously, spectacularly drunk last night. Flashes of the night came in periodically, but they were hazy at the edges. The photos weren’t helping/ They were blurry, or had a finger over the lens, or were of the floor. Then he came to a photo burst that showed a broad, golden-skinned back. A naked back. A man’s back. A man’s naked back.

Patroclus felt ill in a way that had nothing to do with the hangover.

“Oh, no,” he muttered, scrolling through the pictures that gradually sharpened in clarity. “No. No no no no no. Oh, no. Oh _fuck._ ”

Achilles strolled onto the plane, looking perfectly healthy, grinning and handsome and stupid, and, against all odds, sober. He dropped into the seat across from Patroclus and pushed his sunglasses up to hold his hair back.

“Morning, Pat.”

Patroclus fumbled his phone and dropped it. Achilles reached for it and got it before Patroclus. He looked at the photo on the screen and grinned broadly.

“I see you got my best angle.”

Naked and ass-up.

Fuck.

“Achilles--”

“Relax, Patroclus. I’m the _last_ person who’d hold a man’s drunken escapades against him. I feel so blessed to be a part of yours.”

“Achilles--”

“But -- if you ever want a repeat, I’m down. Fuck me, I can barely walk.” His stretched, satisfied and indolent, his shirt hiking up to reveal a strip of golden skin.

“Achilles!” Patroclus felt like his heart was trying to escape his chest. He was unable to keep the disgust off his face, but he didn’t have time to explain that it was directed inward.

Achilles dropped his smile and his voice. “I’m serious. I won’t say anything. I know what I mean to you. No know knows, except possibly -- probably -- Briseis, and I’m not gonna do anything to change that.”

“Fucking hell,” Patroclus said, covering his face with his hands.

“Alright, sunshine,” Achilles said, hurt and irritated. “Get over yourself.” He stood and moved to a seat at the opposite end of the plane. Which, considering it was only a six-seater, wasn’t far, but the statement was clear. 

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

Patroclus couldn’t face Achilles, which appeared to suit Achilles, too. Just as well. As soon as they landed in Pelion, they were bundled into a sleek, black town car ( _Were there any other kind?_ Patroclus wondered) and ushered into Chiron’s office in an unassuming little building that had once been a house. It faced the sea to the west, and Chiron greeted them with a service of tea and sandwiches.

“Welcome to Pelion,” he said, his voice as craggy as his appearance.

Doubt speared through Patroclus’s gut -- they weren’t being apprenticed; they were being hidden away. There’s no possible way either of them could learn about running a globally-known law firm on a sleepy island in the Pacific, certainly not from a man who looked like a retired surf instructor.

Chiron peered shrewdly at Patroclus, as if reading his thoughts. He turned, however, to Achilles.

“I trust your father apprised you of the terms of your apprenticeship, young man?”

“Yes, sir,” Achilles said, more meekly than Patroclus had ever heard him speak before. It struck Patroclus that Achilles looked...humbled.

“Good, good.” Chiron sipped his tea and set the cup down on the saucer. He motioned to a man neither Achilles nor Patroclus had noticed on their arrival, a broad, dark-skinned young man who blended in to the shadows. Achilles started visibly when the young man appeared beside him. Patroclus smothered a laugh.

“Ajax, please take Achilles to his lodging.” Chiron turned to Achilles and Patroclus. “You may have noticed that developed real estate is somewhat scarce on Pelion. You two will be sharing a cottage up the road a few miles. However, at Peleus’s request, your living quarters are both comfortable and distinctly separate, to give you both your space. And you’ll find the woods and the beach are both excellent places to seek solitude, should you require it.”

“Of course,” Achilles demurred. Ajax stepped back to allow Achilles room to move in the small office. “Thank you, sir.” He bowed to Chiron/ Achilles then looked at Patroclus and opened his mouth as if to speak, but seemed to think better of it and gave him a curt nod instead.

Chiron watched the exchange, stone-faced and impossible to read. Patroclus again felt a stab of dread.

Chiron waited until the car had pulled out of the gravel drive and headed north before turning to speak to Patroclus.

“There is a small library in your house.” He gave Patroclus a small smile. “There is a great deal of required reading in this apprenticeship, I’m afraid, but the library is cozy enough. You also have an office here,” he said, gesturing to his left. Patroclus looked to see a room with no door, spartanly furnished with basic office supplies. He nodded to Chiron, who smiled again.

“As tomorrow is Monday, I’ll expect you to come in, but as it is your first day, you may come in at ten. You have a car up at the house, just something to get you around the island, mind, nothing fancy. Most of what you need has already been supplied -- suits and the like -- they’re all at the cottage. Whatever else you find you might need, you may order and have sent here. Ajax can help you, although he does have his own apprenticeship duties. You brought your passport?”

“Yes, sir.” Whatever he had expected of Chiron and Pelion, this was not it, and Patroclus felt his anxiety rise. 

“You’ll learn quickly enough,” Chiron said, again as if he read his thoughts. He stood, clearly expecting Patroclus to follow suit, so Patroclus obliged. He noticed a small kitchenette off to the side, so he gathered up the tea service, noting Chiron’s silent approval, and washed them up as best he could. By the time he finished, Ajax had returned, unobtrusive as ever. Patroclus made a note to watch him. 

“Ajax will take you up to the cottage now, help you settle in, and leave you to get adjusted,” Chiron said from his desk. “Unless you have any questions?”

_Only eleventy billion,_ Patroclus thought, but he said, “No, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Chiron gave him a once-over and decided to let Patroclus’s obvious lie stand. “Oh, one last thing.” Chiron opened a drawer at his desk and retrieved a silver phone. “You’ll find regular cellular service is lacking on the island, so here is a satellite phone. Do keep it on you at all times. The nature of your apprenticeship manes you’ll be keeping somewhat irregular hours. You’ll receive a weekly calendar, but you will undoubtedly be called outside of that schedule, so you must have your phone. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Patroclus replied, pocketing the phone. 

“Good. All the numbers you need are already programmed for you.” He extended a hand to Patroclus, who managed a firm, mildly sweaty handshake. “Alright. Follow Ajax. He’ll see you safely to your house. Until tomorrow morning.”

“Good night, sir.” Patroclus finally managed a smile, then followed Ajax out front. 

Ajax led Patroclus not to the town car but to a dusty green Land Rover. “Already got your bags in,” he replied to Patroclus’s questioning glance. “You need to stop at the store before we head up?”

“There’s a store?”

Ajax grinned at Patroclus’s obvious disorientation. “Yup. Just up the road. There’s food in your house -- Mr. Chiron is pretty good about making sure newbies have everything they need, but he’s not great about little things, shit that helps fight off homesickness. There’s a little convenience store in town, run by one of Mr. C’s brothers or cousins or something.”

Patroclus climbed into the passenger seat and buckled in. “I think I’m okay for now. Thanks.”

“Sure thing.” He turned the key and the Land Rover’s engine roared to life. He eased the car into gear and backed out. A Jack Johnson song started up. “You can change the CD if you want,” Ajax said, watching for Patroclus’s reaction. 

“Nah, this is fine,” he said truthfully. He wouldn’t admit it freely (i.e. to Achilles), but he liked uncomplicated music like this.

“Cool,” Ajax responded, a pleased grin on his face.

They drove north along a narrow, two-lane road that hugged the coast. Patroclus was glad to be on the outside lane, away from the cliff’s edge. Heights like this made him nervous, although he supposed he’d have to get used to them. 

Ajax provided a pleasant running commentary designed to introduce Patroclus to his new home. The speech was clearly well rehearsed.

An awful thought pierced Patroclus.

“Ajax?”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Am I in a cult?”

Ajax’s barking laughter filled the vehicle, and Patroclus felt his cheeks flush hot.

“Nah, dude. You’re not in a cult. Not here, anyway.”

“What is this place, then? Who exactly is Chiron. I realize I should have asked these questions before flying out here, but --”

“But you owe Mr. Peleus. You trust him.”

“Exactly. How did you know?”

Ajax pulled the car off the road at an overlook and cut the engine. “Patroclus,” he said before lapsing into silence.

Patroclus tried to wait Ajax out, but his anxiety spiked, and he felt the tell-tale signs of a panic attack coming on. His hands went clammy and his breaths became shallow.

“Patroclus, dude, are you okay?” Ajax came out of his reverie and gripped Patroclus’s shoulder.

“Fine,” Patroclus said through clenched teeth. “I’m fine. I need--”

Ajax unbuckled his seat belt, got out of the car, went to the passenger side, and opened the door. “C’mon.” Patroclus allowed Ajax to help him out of the car. “C’mon,” he said again, gently. “There’s a path down to the beach. C’mon. Let’s walk a bit.”

Patroclus nodded and followed Ajax down a clear, winding trail to the beach. It was the most perfect beach Patroclus had ever seen -- sandy, sheltered from the wind by moss-covered cliffs. At one end, Patroclus could see a small gray cottage peeking from the pine trees at the top of the rocks. 

“That’s my place,” Ajax said, indicating the cottage. “Yours is another half mile up the road from here.”

Ajax led Patroclus to an enormous driftwood tree at the base of the cliff. A scattering of ashes told him the tide didn’t cover the entire beach. They sat down on the log and faced the water. The sun was beginning to set and warmed their faces. Patroclus forced his breathing to slow and even out, inhaling the tang of salt and kelp and pine sap. Gulls circled overhead, their raucous cries commingling with crows in the woods. Such a racked shouldn’t have been peaceful, but Patroclus, used to the noises of a city, found them soothing. 

“What is this place?” he asked once he’d gotten his breathing under control.

Ajax took him to mean the island, not the beach. “Pelion. It’s not a cult, although I can see why you might think that.” He laughed. “Mr. Chiron certainly has a cult-like following among a certain segment of the population.”

“Can I ask why you are here?”

“Same reason as you. Same as most people who come to Pelion. To learn.”

“But to learn what?”

“Whatever you need.”

“What do _you_ need?”

Ajax smiled, but there was a shadow in his eyes. Patroclus began to apologize, but Ajax held up a hand.

“I’m learning how to take care of things at home,” he said. Patroclus didn’t press him for further details. 

“I’m a cousin of Achilles’s, by the way. Did you know?”

“Really?”

“YEah. Distantly. Second or third or something. We met when we were kids, although I know he didn’t recognize me today.”

“Did you tell him?”

“Nah. I’ll let him figure it out. We’ll be training together a couple times a week.”

“And me?”

Ajax shook his head. “I don’t know, Patroclus. There’s something different about you. I’ve never known an apprentice to have an office with Mr. Chiron before.”

Patroclus quailed a bit, but he kept his anxiety at bay, soothed by the presence of the large man beside him. He did trust Peleus to look out for him, and if Ajax seemed to be alright, then Patroclus would trust that he would come through this process unscathed as well.

“Look, there aren’t a lot of us on the island right now,” Ajax said, getting to his feet. He offered Patroclus a hand and pulled him up to stand with him. “Just me, Phoenix, a kid named Caeneus, and now you two. Scions of important men, destined to do important things. Phoenix and Caeneus have a place on the beach south of the airstrip. You and Achilles are to the north, as I said. We meet up in town a couple nights a week. There’s a good little bar, the Olive Branch, run by a few locals. There’s another town in the center of the island, in the forest, and the town where Mr. C’s office is. About a hundred residents in each. They tend to leave us alone, though. Don’t really know why.”

They climbed into Ajax’s car. “You have your phone. The cottage has internet. You’ll be fine. There just isn’t much in the way of distractions, if you catch my meaning.”

“Good,” murmured Patroclus, ignoring Ajax’s implications. “I could use some focus.”

Ajax chuckled. “Whatever you say, man.” He brought the Land Rover back onto the road and drove the final half mile to Patroclus’s new home.

The cottage was a dusky blue house set back into a stand of pines. Two Land Rovers, one black and one blue, were parked out front. Lights illuminated the windows on the right -- presumably Achilles’s half. Ajax parked but made no move to get out. 

“Door’s unlocked,” he said. “They don’t lock, actually, but you’ll be fine. No one will bother you here.”

_Except my housemate,_ Patroclus thought.

“Car keys will be on your desk -- you’ve got you own set of rooms to the left. Kitchen and library are shared. Poke around a bit, and call if you need anything. My number’s in your phone.”

“Thank you,” Patroclus said earnestly. He reached over to shake Ajax’s hand, but Ajax caught him in a one-armed bro-hug. 

“No worries. Call me anytime. And you know where I live, so--”

“Yeah.” Patroclus grinned. “Thanks again.” He got out of the car, waved to Ajax, and made his way up the steps of the wrap-around porch and into the house.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I packed my laptop cord in my checked bag like a N00B which is why this is a shorter chapter :-/  
> Please accept this short chapter with the knowledge that I will come back to this fic soon.  
> Also, Caeneus, Phoenix, and Ajax are all, according to Wikipedia, students of Chiron and played a roll in the Trojan War, so that's where I got those fellas.

As they settled into their respective apprenticeships, Achilles and Patroclus also settled into routines, the bulk of which consisted of avoiding each other. Patroclus knew Achilles could sulk like a champion, but he was impressed with the dedication to ignoring him Achilles put in this time.

Fine. That suited Patroclus just fine. Chiron kept him busy, meeting a never-ending parade of old, rich, white men, all of whom were useful to the firm n one way or the other, all of whom Patroclus learned to play like a harp. At least once a week, Patroclus was shunted to the mainland in one of Chiron’s helicopters, and every three weeks or so, he was flown to meetings in Canada or mexico, or, on one memorable weekend, to woo someone on behalf of Chiron in Costa Rica. 

On his down-time, Patroclus used to like jogging, but Achilles claimed that activity, and fair enough. He rarely left the island. Patroclus took up hiking through the forest in the center of the island. He discovered Phoenix shared his enthusiasm for tramping about in the woods. Phoenix was a lithe, beautiful young man, just out of university, and as summer turned to fall, he and Patroclus found other, more interesting ways to get exercise. In all, Patroclus was enormously satisfied with the progression of his apprenticeship.

Except.

Except for Achilles.

Achilles’s silence rankled him. When Patroclus spoke to Phoenix or shared an occasional beer with Ajax, they sang Achilles’s praises to the sky. He was, they said, a natural-born leader, and even though he was the son of the Boss, he never lorded his position of privilege over them. He knew he had to earn his place of honor, and by all accounts, he took that duty seriously. Patroclus was sure all the other apprentices were half in love with Achilles (Caeneus more than half). 

Except.

Achilles would not speak to him. Patroclus, who was to be Achilles’s sword arm, could get no more than polite monosyllables from him. He was on the verge of asking Chiron for advice when Fate intervened.


	6. Chapter 6

Fate came in a rush of wind and rain. They had just enough warning to cancel all trips and training and lay in a few days worth of supplies. The cottage Achilles and Patroclus shared did not have an emergency generator, but the shed Achilles had partially converted into a weight room had plenty of wood for the library hearth, and Patroclus unearthed a small kerosene stove in a box of camping equipment Phoenix had helpfully left.

Patroclus felt a mild twinge of guilt as he lit the burner to start a pot of coffee. Phoenix had strongly hinted that Patroclus ride out the storm with him while Caeneus could keep Achilles company, but Patroclus had grown tired of the boy’s attentions. He enjoyed the sex, obviously, but their apprenticeship took them in such different directions that Patroclus knew a gulf that opened between them would soon be impossible to cross. 

In the meantime, he had coffee and a book lent to him by one of Chiron’s brothers that he’d been meaning to read, a new translation of a Japanese science fiction novel. 

Achilles had yet to join him, instead preferring to spend hours at the punching bag in the shed. However, as rain and wind lashed Pelion and temperatures dropped to near freezing, Patroclus set his book down, heated some soup on the stove, and took a thermos-full and some bottles of water to the shed.

Patroclus only meant to deposit the food and water and return to his book. He was certain that Achilles wanted nothing to do with him, and it was only basic human decency that prompted Patroclus to bring him dinner. But a gust of wind caught the door as Patroclus entered, leaving him no opportunity for subtlety.

Achilles watched, amused, as Patroclus struggled with the door. He stood, glistening with sweat, by the swaying punching bag. Patroclus again forgot to be subtle and uncaring at the sight of Achilles’s half-naked form in the light of the handful of flickering lanterns hung up around the shed. 

Achilles was transformed. He had always been beautiful. Even Patroclus, in his deepest annoyance, would not deny this. But when they had arrived on Pelion, there was still a boyishness about him, a carefree, blissful youth who had not truly know what hard work was. A boy who relied on his natural wit, charm, and golden smile. The Achilles who stood before Patroclus now was a man.

It wasn’t just his body -- oh gods, his body, a map of new scars over newly defined muscles. There was a new steadfastness in the gaze he leveled at Patroclus. Patroclus didn’t know where to look. He wanted to stand and memorize every angle and plane. He wanted to --

“What the fuck is that?” Patroclus cried, dropping the bag of food and water and rushing to Achilles’s side.

“Huh?”

Patroclus turned Achilles to the left and held up his arm so he could get a better look at a vivid pink scar that snaked across his rib cage. He traced a finger gently along the puckered skin. It was a jagged, angry mark, six inches across, mostly healed, but it must still pain Achilles when he twisted his torso or moved his arms.

“Oh. That,” Achilles said. He dropped his arm but did not step away from Patroclus.

“Oh, that,” Patroclus repeated angrily. “And that!” He touched a star-shaped scar on Achilles’s left shoulder. “And that!” Fresh bruises over his right kidney. “Holy fuck, Achilles, what happened?”

Achilles shrugged. “Accidents.”

“Accidents?”

“Training accidents.”

Patroclus was unable to form coherent words for several minutes, and Achilles stood, patiently waiting for him to regain composure. 

“What kind of accidents?” Patroclus said at last, his voice icy.

Achilles stepped back now and held Patroclus gently by the wrists, tightening his grip when Patroclus fought against him. “It’s alright, Pat,” he said, his voice low and calm, barely audible above the storm.

“Achilles, you’re injured! For fuck’s sake, you’re supposed to be learning how to lead a law firm, not an army!”

“Chiron has some...old ideas about training,” Achilles replied. There was an undercurrent to his words that Patroclus couldn’t quite pin down. “I really am okay, though.”

“Are you? Because it looks like you’re getting the shit beat out of you! Phoenix never has marks like these!”

Achilles’s eyes tightened at the mention of Phoenix, and Patroclus instantly regretted saying his name. Achilles let him go and gestured towards the punching bag. “Did you need something specific, Patroclus? Because I have another hour in my workout.”

“I brought you something to eat.”

Achilles nodded his thanks and turned back to the bag, striking it in a swift and complicated rhythm. Patroclus watched, heard the grunts as the scar pulled. He didn’t think. He moved around to hold the punching bag. Achilles huffed in annoyance.

“What do you want, Patroclus?”

“I just, I mean, Achilles. This,” he said, gesturing to the marks on Achilles’s torso, “is worrying.”

Achilles barked a laugh. “You’re worried about me? Now?”

“Always,” Patroclus said, before he was even aware it was the truth. The months of silence had eaten away at him, though he hadn’t dared admit it to himself.

Achilles let his arms drop to his sides. “You might have said something, oh, at any time,” Achilles replied, temper rising in his voice.

Patroclus felt his own anger rise. “It might have been easier if you weren't such an immature, entitled, self-important asshole all the time.”

“There it is!” Achilles shouldered past him to retrieve a towel from a rack of dumbbells. “Because sacrifice and martyrdom are what we should all strive for, right? Whoring ourselves out to rich old fucks for the sake of a corporation instead of living for ourselves?” Achilles paced the shed like a caged tiger.

Patroclus’s vision went dark. He launched himself at Achilles, a wild punch landing on his jaw. Achilles gritted his teeth and put up his hands. “Hit me again, you fucker!”

Patroclus swing, and Achilles dodged, knocking his hands aside. Patroclus surged forward, intent on knocking Achilles to the ground, but he caught Patroclus in a vice-like grip and pushed him against the wall of the shed. Patroclus struggled against him, but Achilles’s new strength held him back. He let Patroclus struggle until the surge of rage crested and fell away. Achilles stepped back and left Patroclus, heaving and gasping for breath, against the wall. He picked his towel up from the floor and wiped his face. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but he turned and walked out, leaving Patroclus alone to the shame that replaced his anger. 


	7. Chapter 7

Patroclus gave himself half an hour to calm down before going into the house to find Achilles, but when he got inside, the house was cold and empty. Achilles’s car was still parked in front. Patroclus checked Achilles’s room. Empty. Dread rose in his stomach. He wanted to charge into the storm, but he had no idea where Achilles might go. Instead, he built the fire back up, put on a fresh pot of coffee, took up his book, and waited.

Somehow, even with the racket of wind and rain and the storm of fear in his breast, Patroclus fell asleep on the couch in the library. When he awoke, it was fully dark. The fire burned low in the hearth. Patroclus was about to give into his panic when he noticed his shoes had been removed and a blanket was draped over him. He heard movement in the dark kitchen.

“Achilles?”

Achilles’s head appeared in the doorway. “Yeah, Patroclus?”

Patroclus deflated, all his anger, fear, and hurt leaving him in a rush that left him shaking. “Patroclus?” Achilles was at his side in an instant. He put the back of his hand against Patroclus’s forehead.

Patroclus batted his hand away and pulled Achilles to him in a desperate embrace. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he said, repeated like a prayer.

Achilles returned the embrace and stroked Patroclus’s back as he murmured comforting words until Patroclus stopped shaking.

“I’m sorry, too,” Achilles said at last. He smoothed Patroclus’s hair away from his face and kissed his forehead. He paused for the barest fraction of a second before he kissed Patroclus again, once on each eyelid, on each cheek, his lips finally brushing Patroclus’s. Patroclus gave in without thinking, but pulled back a moment later.

Achilles tried to quash the look of hurt, but Patroclus, surprised to learn that he could read every emotion on his face, caught it.

“Achilles, I--”

“I’m sorry, Pat, I --”

“It’s not you --”

“I shouldn’t have--”

“I’m your servant, Achilles!” Patroclus said in a burst of emotion. “We can’t. You know that, right?”

Achilles was stunned. Then he laughed. “My servant? Patroclus, seriously, what the fuck? Is that what you think?” He moved to kiss Patroclus, but Patroclus turned his head aside. Achilles scowled.

“You know it’s true,” Patroclus whispered. “You _have_ to know it’s true. It’s what I’ve been training for. To serve the firm. To serve _you_.” Because whatever Peleus had said to him, it was true. His purpose was to serve Achilles. 

“That’s complete bullshit, Patroclus!” Achilles sat down on the end of the couch. “You’re not my servant. I love you!”

“Achilles. You can’t. I’m your servant. I didn’t want to admit it, not even to myself, but it’s true. From the first day I landed out west, I was in training to serve you. This apprenticeship. It’s not about the firm. It’s about how I can be useful to you.”

“But I don’t want you to be useful! I want you--”

“Do you really think what we want matters, Achilles? I owe your father everything. So do you. You are his heir, and I am your servant.”

“Stop it,” Achilles ordered.

“As you wish.”

“No! Patroclus, that’s not -- fuck!” Achilles leapt up to pace the room. His anger was palpable but directionless, and Patroclus did not want to draw its focus. He wanted to grab hold of him, _hold_ him, but it was not his place.

“No,” Achilles said at last. “No. I don’t accept that.”

“You don't have to accept it for it to be true,” Patroclus said gently.

“No.” Achilles dropped to the floor beside Patroclus. “No.” He took Patroclus’s hand and kissed it. Patroclus knew he should pull away, but he didn’t want to. Every feeling he’d denied, everything he’d pressed down, locked away, everything flooded to the surface at Achilles’s touch. Patroclus stopped thinking and let himself fell. He groaned at the heat of Achilles’s mouth on his skin. He pulled Achilles up and kissed him, a crushing kiss with every unspoken word that had built between them released.

“Patroclus--”

“Don’t,” he panted, leaning back to pull his shirt over his head. “Don’t talk.”

“But Patroclus, I--”

Patroclus put a hand over his mouth. “Don’t speak. If we talk, I’ll talk myself out of this. Just nod, okay? Do you want this?”

Achilles nodded.

“Do you want me?”

A vigorous nod.

Patroclus tamped down fear and doubt. He would think tomorrow. He would deal with the fall out tomorrow. Right now, he stood and undressed. He admired Achilles’s golden skin in the low, red light of the fire as he did the same.

Right now, he kissed Achilles.

Right now, he lay Achilles out on the floor before the fire.

Right now, he touched Achilles there, and there, and there.

Right now, he surrendered.


End file.
